I Can't Say
by Sally Michaels
Summary: Dylan and Christina are good friends, close, too close. And they can't tell each other about their feelings for one another


They leaned their foreheads together, laughing so hard that their muscles were weak and tears ran from their eyes. "Shit, we're gonna get in trouble!" Christina gasped. Dylan rolled his eyes and put his hand to his mouth in mock horror. "Ooh, Frank is gonna come in here and bust me for trying to get you naked!" he cooed.

Christina whacked him playfully. "Stop!" she begged, her side splitting with mirth. Dylan giggled boyishly and snuggled up next to her on the bed. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he curled her into him with the crook of his arm.

Silence.

They stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Two moments.

Dylan spoke again, but not the same performer silly voice he had been using before.

"Christina?"

"Yes?" she answered back, quietly.

They were so calm of a sudden.

Dylan sighed. "Do you think I act stupid?" he was serious. Something was in his tone that bordered a painful need to be comforted but also know the truth. Christina bit her lip. "Sometimes." She said cautiously.

She felt him breathing, a little ragged from their merriment.

"How so?" he asked.

"I don't know," she responded, confusion and fear spilling over her. "Sometimes you get really crazy and laugh a lot, like when you're drunk or something. But nobody's perfect when they're smashed."

Dylan chuckled, she grinned, good, she gotten the response she wanted.

He sighed, "Let's have sex." He said comfortably.

His manner was so relaxed that she knew he was joking. He always asked to have sex when he was in the, "I just embarrassed myself and know I have to make her laugh to lighten the mood," mood.

"No." she replied, equally laid back.

"Dammit." He yawned.

"What time is it?" she wondered, beginning to sit up a little, but he held her down lightly.

"2:19" he said, glancing at the digital clock by her bed.

"Its late." She said.

"No, its early." He said.

She looked at him, he grinned. She loved his bottom teeth.

"Go to your own room and go to bed." She told him.

"Don't wanna." He countered, scratching himself.

"Why?" she probed.

He sighed again, more gustily this time.

"Because," he said with an exaggerated whine. "Its dark and cold, and lonely."

Christina nodded. "I know what you mean." She said slowly.

He cocked his head, and stared at her for a long beat. "You do?"

She rubbed her forehead, looked away, tired, and defeated. "Yes."

Silence again.

"You miss your mom, don't you?" he stated with remarkable solemnity.

She nodded, and winced. "I do." she managed to say, and taking a deep shuddering breath, she fought hot tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes.

His hand crept to her shoulder, timid, yet reassuring. "Must be hard." He said gently, not understanding her pain at all, but trying to with all of his might.

She nodded again, "Every day, I have to fight to get through it. I miss my mom so much, it's like having a constant stomach ache. Shaye's the only person that can make me feel better." She burst out.

He remained still for a second. "Shaye's that dude you like."

"Yes."

He scowled, she saw his brows contract in the dark.

"He's a fag." He said suddenly, with venom.

Christina was surprised. "You haven't even met him!" she exclaimed.

Suddenly, Dylan was angry; she felt his skin prickle with agitation beside her and his body tense up with fury. "I don't need to meet him to know that!" he roared. She put a calming hand to his chest. She felt it heave. Briefly, she closed her eyes and felt his chest, going up and down. Moving, panting, breathing. She was momentarily captured with beauty of one man's simple inhaling process.

She laughed and didn't know why. She opened her eyes and stared at him, no bullshit like.

"What do you want?" she said abruptly.

Dylan opened his mouth to speak, and then paused, knowing he could never say it. He closed it again and pulled away. He stood up and stretched.

The large drafty bedroom was unlit, and the blinds were drawn, but Christina could still see the faint headlights of a passing car go by. The spot light beamed through and silhouetted his tall gangly shape for a split second. Then vanished. She couldn't see him very well but his vibes screamed through the air. "I'm pissed off!"

She sat there, half curled up in blankets; he stood there, rigid by the bed for almost thirty seconds, mutely. Talking without talking.

He went to the door and opened it, he half turned. "Good night." He said, and she could feel the complex emotion in his voice, though he spoke so blandly.

"Good night." She matched his tone.

He left, shutting the door quietly behind him. She listened to him walk down the hall, into his own bedroom, and she heard him get into his own creaky bunk bed and flump down on the mattress with a groan.

"I love you." She said to the door.

Dylan rolled over. "I love you." He said to the empty space beside him. "Huh?" grunted William. Dylan sighed. "Go to hell."


End file.
